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CHAPTER THREE
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2026-01-13 02:16:22The headline went live at exactly nine a.m.
WESTWOOD CEO SECRETLY MARRIED. I stared at the screen of Adrian’s tablet as it refreshed again and again, the same photo splashed across every business outlet. A blurred shot of us entering his penthouse the night before. His hand at the small of my back. My chin lifted. Defiant. They didn’t know it yet, but that detail mattered. “You could have warned me,” I said coolly. “I did,” Adrian replied, adjusting his cufflinks in the mirror. “I said we’d go public.” “There’s a difference between public and ambush.” His reflection met mine. “You’re doing fine.” That almost sounded like approval. Almost. The stylist arrived an hour later. I endured curling irons, makeup brushes, and a woman who kept calling me sweetheart until I finally said, “if you touch my face one more time without asking, you’re fired.” The room went silent. Adrian looked up from his phone. “Ask,” he told her. She did. The charity gala was being held at the Westwood Grand Hotel. Crystal chandeliers. Cameras everywhere. Money dripping from every surface. Adrian offered his arm as we stepped out of the car. I didn’t hesitate. The moment my hand rested on his sleeve, the noise exploded. “Mr Westwood! Is the marriage real?” “Mrs Westwood, where did you meet?” “How long have you been together?” Adrian leaned down, his voice low and precise. “Smile. Not because they are watching but because you are winning.” I smiled. Not softly. Sharply. Inside, the temperature dropped. Eyes followed us. Conversations stalled. I could feel it. The unspoken questions, the instant judgments. Too plain. Too unknown. Too… poor. “Relax,” Adrian murmured. “They are deciding whether to fear you or pity you.” “And which do you prefer?” I asked. “Fear,” he replied without hesitation. “Good,” I said. “So do I.” We hadn’t taken three steps when she appeared. Tall, Beautiful. Impeccably dressed. Rita Sterling. She stopped directly in front of us, her gaze flicking to my hand on Adrian’s arm like it offended her. “Adrian,” she said smoothly. “You didn’t tell me you were married.” “You didn’t ask,” he replied. His voice as cold as ice. Her eyes slid to me, sharp and assessing. “And you are…?” I smiled. Not polite. Not nervous. “His wife.” Rita’s lips curved. “Temporary wives don’t usually get introduced at galas.” I stepped closer. “Neither do ex-girlfriends,” I said calmly. “Yet here you are.” A hush rippled around us. Rita’s smile tightened. “Careful. This world eats girls like you alive.” I titled my head. “Then it’s lucky I bite back.” Adrian’s hand tightened on mine. Possessive. Deliberate. Dinner was worse. I felt the whispers. The glances. The silent comparisons. At last, a woman across the table smiled thinly. “So, Lisa, what do you do?” Before Adrian could answer, I did. “I survive,” I said. “Very well.” Adrian lifted his glass. “My wife has a talent for understatement.” Later, as we stepped onto the balcony, the city glittering below us, Adrian turned to me. “You handled Vivian well.” “I don’t lose to women who think their past gives them ownership,” I replied. His gaze darkened. “Good,” he said quietly. “Because she won’t be the last.” I crossed my arms. “Neither will you.” Something unreadable passed between us. Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and went still.
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Married To The Cold Billionaire CHAPTER ELEVEN
My mother was asleep on the couch when I checked on her. The television murmured softly, some late-night drama she wouldn’t remember in the morning. A knitted blanket covered her legs. Her breathing was even, stronger than it had been months ago, when every rise and fall of her chest felt borrowed. I stood there longer than necessary. Weeks ago, she’d been confined to a hospital bed, machines humming, my world reduced to invoices and fear. Adrian had erased that crisis with a signature. No speeches. No reminders. Just quiet efficiency. She was home now. Well. Alive. I stayed because of love. But I would never forget why I’d agreed to stay in the first place.The penthouse was quiet in a way that felt deliberate.Not empty, but intentional.I noticed it most in the evenings, when the day’s distractions faded and there was nothing left but shared space. Adrian worked late, but even when he was home, the silence lingered between us like an agreement neither of us had signed.That
Married To The Cold Billionaire CHAPTER TEN
The house had a way of falling silent whenever Adrian’s mother arrived. Not abruptly. Not noticeably. Just… gradually. Conversations softened. Footsteps slowed. Even the air seemed to pause, as though waiting to be instructed on how to behave. I noticed it the evening she came unannounced. Adrian was already home when I returned, jacket draped over the back of a chair, sleeves rolled up in a way that suggested he’d been there longer than expected. He looked up when I entered, expression easing. “You’re late,” he said. “Traffic,” I replied. “Is something wrong?” “No,” he said quickly. “My mother stopped by.” That explained the quiet. She stood near the window, elegant as always, hands folded loosely in front of her. When she turned, her smile was warm. Maternal. Perfectly timed. “My dear,” she said, stepping forward. “You must be exhausted.” “I’m fine,” I replied automatically. She touched my arm lightly. Not lingering. Not possessive. Just enough to register. “I worry y
Married To The Cold Billionaire CHAPTER NINE
Adrian didn’t speak during the drive home.Not because he was angry. Not because anything had gone wrong.But because he was thinking.I’d learned to recognize the difference.His focus narrowed when something mattered to him, the world shrinking until only the problem remained. Tonight, his grip on the steering wheel was steady, his gaze fixed ahead, jaw relaxed but unmoving.“You’re quiet,” I said finally.He glanced at me. “So are you.”I smiled faintly. “I didn’t think it was my turn to fill the silence.”He considered that, then nodded once. “Fair.”We drove the rest of the way without speaking, the city lights blurring past us like something distant and unimportant.Back at the house, Adrian loosened his tie and set his phone down on the console.“I spoke to my mother earlier,” he said casually.The way he said it, easy, unguarded, told me it wasn’t meant to alarm me.“Oh?” I replied.“Yes. She wanted an update.”“On your work?” I asked.“On everything,” he said. “She worries wh
Married To The Cold Billionaire CHAPTER EIGHT
The study was the one room in the house that felt untouched by time. Adrian rarely brought guests into it. Not because it was private, but because it was personal in a way the rest of the house was not. The furniture was darker. The lighting softer. Everything arranged with intention, but not display. I wandered in while he was on a call, my fingers trailing along the shelves lined with books he clearly reread, not collected. That was when I saw the photograph. It sat in a simple frame on the far desk, angled slightly inward, as though meant for someone standing exactly where I was. A woman stood beside a much younger Adrian, her hand resting on his shoulder. She was elegant, composed, smiling in a way that suggested pride rather than joy. Adrian couldn’t have been more than ten. I knew immediately who she was. His mother. But something about the picture made me pause longer than necessary. Not because it was strange. Because it was careful. Every detail felt intentional; t
Married To The Cold Billionaire CHAPTER SEVEN
The first rule of the contract was silence.Not spoken, not written, but understood.We did not explain ourselves to outsiders. We did not correct assumptions. We let people believe whatever made them most comfortable.Adrian was very good at that.The charity dinner was his idea. A controlled environment, he’d said. Familiar faces. Predictable conversations.“Appearances matter,” he told me as he adjusted his cufflinks. “Especially early on.”“Early on?” I echoed.“In arrangements like ours,” he replied calmly.I nodded, reminding myself that this marriage still lived on paper more than anywhere else.The venue shimmered with quiet wealth.Soft music. Low laughter. People who knew how to look interested without revealing too much.Adrian’s hand rested lightly at my back as we moved through the room, guiding but never pressing. He introduced me without flourish, voice steady, composed.“This is my wife.”Not contracted. Not temporary.Just wife.I didn’t know why the word settled so
Married To The Cold Billionaire CHAPTER SIX
Living with Adrian was not difficult. It was precise. He woke at the same time every morning, reviewed the same reports over breakfast, and left the house with an efficiency that made the silence feel intentional rather than awkward. There were no raised voices, no unnecessary words, no emotional landmines. If marriage was meant to be loud, then ours was an exception. We coexisted politely. Respectfully. Carefully. The staff followed his lead. Everything ran smoothly. Even I began to adjust to the rhythm, until I realized that adjustment didn’t feel like comfort. It felt like compliance. One morning, as I sat at the kitchen counter scrolling through messages from my mother, Adrian paused beside me. “How is she?” he asked. “Better,” I replied. “The doctors say she can come home soon.” He nodded, visibly relieved. “Good.” That was all. But later that afternoon, I noticed an email notification pop up on his tablet. A hospital invoice. Paid. In full. I stared at it longer
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